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Exile

In a foreign city with an incomprehensible language you are walking along unfamiliar streets; not even the water of the river which flows under the stone arch of
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SHORTAGE OF MAIDS

Who keeps the rock on track? who mows the grass? who closed for us the places on the other side of the road? Those who ate with spoons,
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MY BREATH

In my deepest dreams, the earth cries blood Stars smile in my eyes When people come to me with multi-colored questions I answer go to Socrates The past
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MUMMIFIED CHILD

Centuries later they will find when of a society which has consumed itself only the remains will be left of the small Pharaoh inside a broken refrigerator, buried
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10th February

Forest, a wild hare, a deer sticks its head up, in the shadow meditates a deer, acorns become brown, and between the fingers, slips dark time. * A
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Meeting poets

Meeting poets I am disconcerted sometimes by the colour of their socks the suspicion of a wig the wasp in the voice and an air, sometimes, of dankness.
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MORNING STAR

Oh flower of Time Paul Celan The morning star befuddled by dark sources reflects for a moment in the morning’s red then disappears with the faded dreams of
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Citizen Cane

Citizen Cane Long was every day and the snow the light of my soft sky and the cold the blood of my ardent skin and the game the
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